


trinkets of your affection

by starklystar



Category: Marvel's Avengers (Video Game)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Together, M/M, Presumed Dead, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, and a kiss would be good too, preferably from steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:08:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26749273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starklystar/pseuds/starklystar
Summary: Kissed him once for every year I loved him, Steve had written.By that count, Steve owes him five more kisses now.Tony traces the words, hands trembling, and tips back a shot of Howard's ancient whiskey. None of it burns anymore.One day, he'll have lived more days without Steve than there are words in the diary.For the first time since he'd woken with shrapnel in his chest, Tony fears the future.----------Or, five things Tony keeps to remember Steve by, and one thing Steve gives him to remember.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 24
Kudos: 291





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [desitonystark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/desitonystark/gifts).



> Things to know about the Marvel's Avengers game (spoilers!):
> 
> 1\. The events are similar to the MCU, but Tarleton aka MODOK is a scientist who builds these Terrigen crystal reactors to power a new version of the helicarrier.  
> 2\. The helicarrier's name is the Chimera.  
> 3\. Steve died when the Chimera exploded on Avengers-Day, otherwise known as A-Day, due to a malfunction of the reactors.  
> 4\. Tarleton blamed the Avengers for it, and as a result the Avengers minus Steve disband, leaving Tony to go into hiding in his father's old Nevada mansion that's in ruins.  
> 5\. Five years after A-Day, Kamala Khan, a young inhuman, goes to find Tony in the trailer home he set up outside the mansion, where he agrees to help her.  
> 6\. Steve's body may or may not be preserved in a satellite that Tony goes to investigate.  
> 7\. Steve and Tony have a Thing™ between them.
> 
> p.s. adi this took ages but as you can tell from the wordcount, this sort of spiralled into a lot more than i expected slkfndslkgn i hope you enjoyed it as much as i enjoyed making tony sad (and then happy again) :)
> 
> p.p.s. chapter 2 is unfortunately not an update, just to split the work into two chapters for easier reading :D

**_1\. the shield_ **

The first three years were the hardest. Or the easiest, depending on how Tony chose to look at it.

There was the dreadfulness of hope – as superheroes, it had been their task to believe and achieve the impossible – but for the first time in perhaps his entire life, Tony finally felt a kinship to Howard.

Those years of searching for even the scantest trace, clinging desperately for any sign that Steve couldn’t possibly be _gone_ –

The disbelief, the cold guilt and colder nights when he’d look over his shoulder to tell Steve a joke only he’d understand –

“You’re not going over that shield again, are you?” Rhodey says.

On the monitor, he squints into the darkness of the crumbling mansion’s old workshop, cobbled back together when Tony’s grief and anger had pushed him to do _something_.

Tony shifts the rusty webcam away from the shield hanging on the wall. “Not today.”

It’s the best answer he can give.

Rhodey, miles away and under threat of ruin if discovered to be communicating with Tony, decides to relent for now. “Pepper and Happy say thanks for the new designs. They’ll try calling you tomorrow.”

After the fallout from A-Day, Pepper had done her best to rebuild the company, making sure none of the Avengers were left destitute – even Banner – which meant Tony thanked her by discreetly sending slightly improved products to keep her business chugging slowly along.

Except, every time he tweaked a software on one of the old StarkPhones, finding flaw after flaw after flaw, his mind insisted on returning to Steve’s armor, his gear, his _shield_ , recovered from ash and dust and nicked out of the government’s clutches in time for Tony to take it.

Despite Steve’s will being clear that all his possessions should fall into Tony’s hands, the government still seized what they could.

 _'We'll return the items to you after the investigation closes,'_ they had insisted, ' _until then, we appreciate your cooperation.'_

As if there was any cooperation to appreciate.

Between the team imploding over whether their Captain deserved an empty casket ceremony and the world demanding someone to blame, Tony would be damned if he let their holier-than-thou hands keep the symbol that Steve had died protecting.

And Steve had certainly – _God,_ the letter he had left with the will –

– _as for Captain America, the part of it that has always been bigger than me, don’t let that dream die._

_When I think of the future, I think of the wonderful inventions that stem from your brilliance: your heart and your mind both. There isn't anyone else I could trust more to keep that hope burning –_

When had Tony been able to refuse Steve anything?

At the end of the day, the shield was a reminder of hope, courage, strength, _home_.

That America had died together with Steve, but it was the least that Tony could do to improve the shield, so whoever might bear next the mantle of the Captain won’t have to suffer Steve’s fate.

There was an irony to it all that stabbed at Tony.

When would he learn that his tech could only lead to ruin?

The shrapnel leading to the arc reactor, the reactor leading to shrapnel all over the San Francisco Bay.

And now his blood-stained hands marring that bright white star, the shield's rings of red taunting him.

Rhodey thought it was Tony’s twisted way of punishing himself, but Tony knew he had no other way to grieve.

The first three years had been easiest: he had still been thinking along the lines of ' _when_ '.

‘ _When we find Steve, we’ll clear his name'. 'When we find Steve, we’ll try that Italian place in the corner'. 'When we find Steve, we’ll go to_ _Paris_ '.

Cheesy. But fondue was cheesier.

And Tony would prefer anything that wasn't the bland motions of everyday life without Steve's dry wit and warm touches.

Somewhere along the line, though, ‘ _when_ ’ had become ‘ _if_ ’, and ‘ _we_ ’ had become ‘ _I_ ’ as the Avengers scattered, cracking over the precipice of acceptance and the barren bitterness that lied beyond.

Because even then, ‘ _if_ ’ had been an easier thing to bear than nothing at all.

If Tony clung to the last bits of Steve that he could, then it was because he doesn’t think he can survive in a world where Tarleton had blotted out everything bright and shining about the future they had fought for.

Tony had _faith_ that whatever Steve had done in the control room that day, it wasn’t an act of betrayal. Tarleton had been the one to insist on launching the untested Terrigen cores, the one to convince the government that they were safe enough for a public display.

Anger burns bitter at the memory of the mad scientist shrugging off all blame on the dead, nearly as bitter as the guilt rising up with it. 

When Bruce had testified that the blame laid on the Avengers' hubris, Tony made sure to insist that more blame should lie in the hands of the creator than the Captain who knew little about how they functioned. 

A lie. Steve was smarter than most knew, and he certainly grasped most of what the cores were.

Ultimately, however, it had been Tony's hands that had helped elevate Tarleton's rudimentary designs, and Tony's hands equally to blame for the hundreds who died as the Helicarrier came crashing.

" _Do you ever think about what comes next?"_ Steve had asked him once.

Tony had shrugged. Thinking of life after the Avengers meant contemplating the possibilities of how their ragtag boyband would dissemble, and yet, as a futurist, he had mapped each contingency out.

" _We should plan something for the children,"_ Steve had gone on. " _They're heroes in their own right, and maybe one of them will grow up to be..."_

To be a hero, too.

" _It's a burden they shouldn't have to bear. We fight so they won't have to_ ," Tony had tried to argue otherwise, and he wishes he had fought harder against A-Day. 

But Steve had been planted like a tree, shaking his head: " _We fight so they have a chance at paving their own paths."_

" _Freedom and liberty, huh, Mister_ _America?"_ he had teased instead of pushing back, because when Steve was worked up, it was easy to fall into his vision of a simpler world, where they might have the chance to hang their armor and worry about what show to binge instead of how to stop humanity from being wiped out by the Villain of the Week.

Steve loved the world, and loved even more the people in it. 

One day, he’d find proof enough to finally clear Steve’s name.

Until then, he would fix what he could.

He was the mechanic, after all. He breaks things and tries to put them back together, until there isn’t anything left to put together except for his shredded heart.

The cold nights out in the ruins of the old mansion make the reactor ache more in his chest, but does it really matter anymore what hurts?

“Give Pep my love,” Tony tells Rhodey as they end the call. These days, what little is left of his heart, and what little he can give, he gives to his remaining friends. “Tell her I’m fine.”

“Take care of yourself, Tony. Shave, shower, eat a sandwich,” Rhodey tries his best to smile. “Or do I have to come there myself?”

“Maybe I just like the beard,” Tony deflects.

“Maybe I’ll actually come there.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Platypus.”

Rhodey finally laughs properly, a small huff that squeezes Tony’s heart, its tired pulse trying to find that same joy too.

Today, it feels too old and worn to do anything but its errant beating. Tomorrow, maybe, it would find the strength to smile.

Tony turns around to the shield.

Tomorrow.

* * *

**_2\. the jacket_ **

_“Your hands are cold,” Steve slipped their hands together, “you always forget to wrap up properly.”_

_“I thought this was about you wanting to unwrap me,” Tony teased, grateful when Steve shortened his strides to match Tony’s. Somehow, he had convinced Tony to leave behind the sports car and go walk to their not-date. But when his hand is lifted up to Steve's lips for a warm kiss, he thinks the trade is worth it._

_“That requires you not freezing to death until we get back home,” the quip came muffled against his skin._

_"Aren't you going to give me your jacket?"_

_"I'm starting to think this is all a ploy to rob me of my closet."_

_Guilty as charged._

_Their hips bump, and Tony uses that as an excuse to hold tighter onto Steve's hand, feeling braver than he had earlier in the evening, waiting anxiously outside Steve's door alone. "You know I can afford to replace everything I indefinitely borrow from you," Tony grins._

_Wearing Steve's jackets had somehow always felt safer than wearing the armor, a sense of protection because it meant that someone out there cared enough about him to do these little things._

_Tony, selfish as he is widely known to be, had collected those moments of utter safety with more greed than he had ever felt for money._

_And when Steve relented - shrugging off the leather jacket and draping it over Tony's shoulders, adjusting it carefully - Tony realised the jacket was a color he liked: dark brown, near the shade of his own eyes._

_Sue him for knowing the color of his eyes, but sue Steve more for knowing it too._

Tony had barely thought about it when he had carelessly tossed it on the couch after Steve had taken it off him, the champagne from their first date leaving Tony tipsy enough to dare to kiss him, and to feel the bubbles dance when Steve miraculously kissed _back._ The next morning had been cut short with the rush to get to the Chimera for the A-Day event. Still, Steve had taken the time to take Tony to a private corner of the Quinjet, shield strapped on his back but hand gentle on Tony's arm.

_"What?" Tony had asked him._

_"Nothing," Steve had shaken his head. "You look - you look great." Ducking his head, Steve's lips had tipped up into that small smile of his, a secret hiding there which Tony would never get the chance to understand. "I want to remember it. Important for tactical recon."_

Back then, Tony had laughed, knowing full well that recon meant Steve learning new places to kiss Tony, points of brightness as the constellations of Steve's touch on him ached for _more_.

Even now, he feels the phantom touch of that aching warmth, desperate for the worlds of wonder that had died with Steve. 

Regret comes late, after all, and no matter how much he cursed himself for not taking Steve out sooner, for not giving him more, better dates than a simple _dinner_ , he couldn't change anything, could he?

A mechanic who can't fix what matters most.

Tony wraps the jacket tighter around himself, one of his last remaining comforts in the barren wasteland of his ruined mansion.

After years of close observation, he's learned that the inside pocket has a neatly sewn _S.G. Rogers_ , resting just above Tony's heart, bumping against the arc reactor.

Most days, he's torn between being grateful that he'd grabbed it at the last moment and being one second away from tossing it into the fire with the last of his alcohol.

But he had barely enough time to make sure that Steve’s – _god, Steve_ – possessions were safe before moving out of the Tower fast enough to avoid the government, and he doesn't want to lose what he'd been able to salvage.

A desperate need to make up for his failure.

The trinkets Steve left behind would never live up to the man himself. Still, they were a part of Steve, and Tony knows now why Howard had held onto Steve's wartime possessions for so long. 

Five stages of grief.

Bullshit.

There wasn't any stages to it.

Just a whole bunch of warped up _hurt_ that hasn't dulled in five years, shrapnel that can't ever go away, that has no arc reactor to keep it at bay.

How can anybody be gone when all their things still cluttered the world?

The wreck of the Chimera was in a junkyard somewhere, their rooms gathering dust. Steve's Twitter feed - the same one Tony had pestered him into making for the sake of PR and cat memes - was _still_ updating, people liking and reposting words that Steve had carefully typed out. A world moving on, a world frozen in place.

But where Steve had once been swallowed by ice, it was fire that had consumed him this time.

An unrelentless pyre of smoke and ash.

Tony snaps off a loose thread from the jacket, rubbing his cold hands together.

"Never could make my life easy, could you?" he says to the silent woods around him.

Only a crazy man would expect to reply, and Tony was far more than crazy.

* * *

**_3\. the diary_ **

The diary hadn’t given him too many answers.

If anything, it had lead to even more questions.

There weren’t as many words in it as Tony would have hoped – and Tony _did_ hope, because these were the last of Steve’s thoughts that remained. The only chance for the barest glimpse of what might have gone through his head in those final moments as the world burned around him.

Snatching it from the bottommost drawer of Steve’s desk had been mere luck, and at first it had been about finding proof that Steve hadn’t planned anything that the government dared to accuse him of.

The thick, leatherbound notebook had come from a StarkExpo giftbag, because no matter how many times Tony had tried to buy Steve a better notebook, Steve never failed to insist that those new notebooks were too good to waste on his aimless thoughts.

 _"I'm saving up the new notebooks for something special,"_ Steve had said. 

Whatever was special enough to put in them, Tony knows it's useless to hypothesize. _This_ giftbag notebook gave him more than enough distractions.

Most of it was filled with _doodles_.

Iron Man’s shillouette. The Avengers standing together. DUM-E holding out a flower. Tony himself hunched over a piece of machinery, the arc reactor carefully detailed.

There were days that Tony felt tempted to rip out a page and frame it, but he couldn’t bear breaking apart another piece of Steve.

Other days, Tony would flip through the pages in search of neat, looping letters.

_Sept. 14, 2012: Back in NY from roadtrip. Moved into the Tower. ~~Stark~~ Tony actually nice, need to apologise._

A soldier’s report, succinct and to the point.

_Dec. 26, 2012: First Christmas with new team. Didn’t know what to give so cooked instead. Tony gave a penguin doll. Joke? Maybe. Actually had a nice night yesterday._

Beside it, a rough doodle of said doll, and Tony wonders which of Steve’s boxes the doll was lost in, or if it even survived. The penguin was a small thing that used to grace Steve’s desk at the Chimera: _in case you miss your old ice cap friends, Cap_ , he had once tried to explain when he found Steve adjusting its place, but Steve had merely smiled up at him.

“ _It’s a reminder of the new friends I’ve made,_ ” he had told Tony with all his damned sincerity.

_May 29, 2013: Gave Tony a drawing of him and DUM-E for birthday. I think he likes it. I hope he does._

_May 30, 2013: DUM-E has the drawing. Hanging on a wall where Tony can see while working. Will make another next year._

Tony knows the exact location of those gifts, shoved carefully into a box in one of the mansion’s bunkers, too painful for him to look at now, and too precious to throw away. One day, maybe, when it hurt less, he’d be able to see them and smile again, but it feels impossible that it _could_ hurt less.

Had Steve already prepared another gift for Tony before A-Day? He can't bear to know, to can't bear to see the strokes on a canvas that won't ever be continued.

The dates disappear in the later pages, the entries scribbled in on the margins, and Tony doesn’t care to think of what it says about himself that he can guess their dates anyway.

_Bought a new jacket today, one I think Tony will like to ~~steal~~ borrow for an indefinite amount of time. Why is it always my things that he borrows? _

Which, to be fair to Steve, had been written a year before Tony fully understood what his own, foolish heart wanted. And which, entirely to Steve's credit, had been one of the many things Tony regretted not being able to salvage from the Chimera. But the way Steve knew exactly what Tony needed and _wanted_ , even when he didn't know why -

 _Good isn’t a thing you are, it’s a thing you do_ , the looping letters remind him. _Said that to Tony last week, and he proved me right._

They had ice cream when Steve said that to him, right after a mission six years ago involving stolen Stark weapons two decades old.

Something had snagged at the back of Tony’s throat when he realised that this notebook was nearly finished.

There were ten or so pages left painfully blank. And the last entry -

_May 4, 2019: A-Day today. Seven years to the day I met Tony, barely twelve hours to the start of our first date. Hope today goes as well as last night. He smiled a lot. Liked listening to him talk. Kissed him once for every year I loved him; wasn't enough. Will have to kiss him more. Think he'll want to explore the West Coast with me? Drop by the Canyons, see the world we fought for? I'll ask him later._

Of all the Stark mansions he could have chosen as his hideout, he'd chosen the Nevada one.

And if it was the nearest to a certain National Park, well. It was the closest thing Tony had to a grave. The last of Steve's desires, a way he could say goodbye and talk to whatever it was about the place that made Steve think it represented everything they sacrificed.

Maybe it was the history of the people there, older than the idea of America itself, a reminder of their imperfect world and the beauty to be found regardless. Maybe it was simply somewhere Steve had passed during his USO tour, a place he could visit and find some things exactly as he'd once seen them a lifetime ago.

Tony had known that beneath the succint words, Steve was a wistful romantic. He'd never known Steve was _this_ romantic, as in love with Tony as Tony had been in love with him. 

_Kissed him once for every year I loved him_ , Steve had written. 

By that count, Steve owes him five more kisses now.

Tony traces the words, hands trembling, and tips back a shot of Howard's ancient whiskey. None of it burns anymore.

One day, he'll have lived more days without Steve than there are words in the diary.

"I'm sorry."

The tears don't come.

"I love you."

Because it wasn't _loved_. 

Doesn't think he could ever stop loving.

"Come home."

He tosses the diary next to the shield.

When it bounces against the edge of the table and lands on the floor, he scrambles to pick it back up, checking its pages for any crumples.

Tony sighs in relief when he finds none.

"I'm sorry," he says to hear his own voice, because Steve loved his voice and he doesn't think he can say any other words.

Compromise. Ha.

If only his heart would learn to do that.

Then maybe it'd be easier to breathe.

* * *

**_4\. the kid_ **

Stubborn as Steve was in life, it made sense that his stubbornness even in death would reach out and prod Tony out of his self-pitying grief and into action.

Tony just hadn't expected the prod to come in the form of a young girl with a wide-eyed faith in the world and an utter belief in _goodness_ that had been Steve’s downfall.

He wishes the universe would give him a break.

“Guessed your password on some resistance blog,” Kamala says when they settle into the small outdoor trailer, where his only access to the internet is. Tony only dismisses the security breach because there are more important things at play.

Plugging the USB drive - how far the gods have fallen, Tony Stark using an actual flashdrive instead of holograms - he can't help the dread that crawls through him, settling at the base of his spine.

The footage stares back at him, Steve in the Chimera's reactor room, eyes darting from one control to another.

“Impressive,” he mutters mindlessly at her.

“Dude, your password was ‘I am Iron Man’.”

He barely keeps himself from flinching. “Really? Huh, I thought I changed it.” Nobody calls him Iron Man anymore, at least not without either disgust or pity. Turning to properly take the girl in, he vaguely remembers Steve mentioning her, and understands bitterly _why_ Cap liked her.

Hope, courage, sheer _goddamned_ stubbornness, and a knack for quick thinking that saw through Tony.

Steve would never forgive him if he kicked her out.

Behind Kamala, Bruce shuffles. Every movement sends the trailer rocking the slightest bit, the cutlery in the shelf above their head clinking ever so slightly.

Was some twisted form of karma demanding that Tony take care of this bright-eyed child after his failure to keep America’s golden hope alive?

He doesn’t have much choice, does he?

The _footage_.

Tarleton. The bastard.

All these years, Tony had been desperate to have a shred of proof that even in his final moments, Steve hadn’t betrayed them.

Here was irrefutable evidence.

 _God_ , Steve looks so small in the flimsy computer screen.

He's telling Tarleton to get out and seal the chamber, trapping himself in -

 _Dammit, you goddamned self-sacrificing idiot_ , Tony wants to yell, but Tarleton seals the doors far too quickly, no arguments or debates - this was _planned -_

Bright white, and the horror clear in Steve’s face, his mouth shaping words Tony can’t make out -

The computer blinks.

“Who’s Tiny Dancer?” Tony asks more harshly than he meant to, the notification sending the footage haywire.

"No. _No_ ," Kamala whispers.

Tony glances at Bruce, because no matter how pissed he was at the doctor, they were the only two adults - Avengers - in the room. The trailer. The goddamned state of Nevada.

Whatever.

The point is, he's done sitting on his ass and letting the people around him die. _What would Steve say?_

He has to take action.

"Kid - "

Kamala wrenches the flash drive out. “AIM," she swallows, peeks through the gap of Tony's curtains, "we gotta get out of here.”

That’s the last thing Tony wants to do, but this is Steve’s legacy, and a budding hero who still believes in everything good that the Avengers had stood for.

He considers the shirt he’s wearing. If he’s going to hunt down Tarleton, he’ll need more than that. “Let me get changed into something less comfortable.”

Tarleton - or if he preferred the name MODOK, Tony was more than happy to oblige - deserved what was coming for him.

The shield left on the workshop table, the diary next to it: Tony thinks of the bright star on Steve's chest and the arc reactor in his own.

An imperfect world.

Still worth fighting for. 

How long has it been since he last felt the smallest flames of hope?

Letting himself laugh, he opens the trapdoor on the trailer's floor and leaps into the mansion's basement.

"Thanks, Steve," he says as he searches for the gauntlets.

Communing with the dead isn't part of his superpowers, but a man can dream.

He snaps on the next piece of his rusty armor.

"I'll come back for your shield," Tony promises.

And then, "I'll come back for you."

Or the memory of him, at least.

 _Compartmentalise,_ Steve's commanding voice chides him.

"Dead for five years and still trying to take me to school," he huffs as the repulsors kick into low-level flight.

Faintly, he hears Bruce turn into the Hulk, the ground trembling beneath his rage.

The dead can wait, Tony decides.

It's been years since he properly fought, but once an Avenger, always an Avenger.

Or at least, Steve had said something like that.

And Captain America wouldn't lie, would he?

* * *

**_5\. the shirt_ **

From the end of the Chimera's walkway, he watches Kamala adjust her burkini, torn between laughing and crying at how right Steve had been about young heroes choosing their own way.

Around them, the helicarrier's recently replaced engines hum a ceaseless noise, carrying them to the ideal launch location for him to fly to MODOK's secret space base.

He actively refuses to think about how this walkway had been designed by Steve, the arches above them less austere than Tony would've made them.

They had been the first two to walk through the finished hallways, and that last morning - Steve had promised to visit Tony's rooms when the festivities were over.

The quick repairs Tony had done to get the Chimera out of the junkyard and back into the air hadn't paid much attention to the crooked metal beams that now precariously held the walkway together. 

None of it matters, because they're not here to stay.

A final mission: clear Steve's name, keep the world safe from MODOK.

Then back to the empty mansion.

"It's not the costume that makes the hero," Tony finally offers after a few more seconds, more to distract himself than anything else.

And because he understands what it feels like: to stand in a costume and only see a lie.

"I, uh, I'm not exactly wearing the Iron Man suits - which are, they're really cool, but I'm not - " Kamala tucks her hair nervously behind her ear, shifting away from the corridor's mirror.

"Kid, I'm a semi-functioning ex-billionaire genius. At this stage, you're doing far better than me," he shrugs. "But it _is_ the costume that protects the hero, so remind me to give you an upgrade when I get back from space."

Kamala gasps, eyes wide. Her reticence quickly morphing into excitement "You're actually upgrading my suit?"

"As long as you promise not to try to be like me or Bruce," he nods easily, but takes a step back. Not yet. He isn't ready to have her be anything closer than an acquaintance, or God forbid, a mentee. "There are better people for you to want to be, and the best of them is yourself."

If he let her get any closer, he doesn't think he can bear losing someone else to this ceaseless war, especially someone so young and true.

"Is that why you grew your beard?" she asks quietly. "To be yourself?"

 _You don't pull your punches, do you, kid?_ He feels ice creeping out beneath the reactor. "In a way. Now go and badger Nat about it."

He leaves her before she can cut any deeper, picking his way back to his residential quarters, but not before stopping by an achingly familiar panel marked with a star.

"I hope you're proud of yourself," Tony murmurs bitterly at Steve's locked door. He lets out a breath, heavy and uneven. "I hope you approve of her."

His eyes drift shut against the vision of Steve's smile in his mind, the ghost of the hand that would've usually been there. Without it, the world seems vastly empty, no anchor to come back home to.

Time doesn't allow for anymore hopes, except perhaps one more. "I hope you're happy."

He forces himself to turn to his own quarters, designed to be strategically placed across the hallway from Steve's.

Loudly, he commands JARVIS to open the panel doors.

The room is a hopeless mess, things having been shaken by the A-Day explosion: the red bedsheets look a miserable brown under the sheen of dust, the bathroom sink with a massive crack running through it.

Rest. Change. Eat. Then go to space.

Those had been the instructions given by Nat, and because rest was only for the innocent, he skips that step, walking around his desk to examine the white shirt on the floor.

It's recognisable from the last time Steve had come by, leaving it draped over a chair.

Tony picks it up, bringing it to his nose.

 _Just checking if it's_ _clean_ , he makes a note to no one important.

Unsurprisingly, he coughs up dust.

Nothing of Steve lingers in the fabric except for its softness, the cotton thin from years of use. It brushes gently over his rough palm - a wisp of tenderness, the last traces of memory from a time when breathing hurt less.

"You're still dry. And you're still Steve's," Tony tells the shirt when he trades his greasy one for it. A grown superhero looking for comfort in a shirt: ridiculous, silly, scandalous.

But it isn't like anyone would know the shirt is one of Steve's, and it isn't like Steve is in any state of existence to take it back - unless you counted Ghost-Steve that existed only in Tony's mind and insisted on being his conscience. 

The shirt hangs off Tony's thin shoulders.

"Not a word, JARVIS," he sends a warning at the nearest camera.

"Of course, sir," the AI dutifully responds. "Although, if I might suggest it, a shower would be beneficial."

"And a waste of time."

He _does_ end up grabbing a bite to eat, Natasha having somehow procured food for them all. When the time comes for him to launch himself into space and investigate MODOK's repurposed satellite, he skips all the pomp and ceremony.

Tony wears the shirt like a talisman as he slips into the under armor and lets the rest of the armor close in around him. Its smooth fabric acts as his last line of defense beneath the endless layers of metal and circuitry.

Whatever's waiting for him up there beyond the clouds, he's sure he's seen worse.

"Get on it, J," he commands the repulsors to go further, "we've got a Captain to avenge."


	2. Chapter 2

**+1.**

“You shaved,” Steve says with a note of pleased surprise as Tony’s door swings open, and Tony preens under his appreciative gaze.

“Lost a bet with Nat,” he shrugs.

A small smirk tips Steve’s lips up, eyes crinkling. “Kamala called it your ‘I-lost-my-husband’ beard.”

“And you’ve spent far too long drawing it,” Tony walks with him to the end of the galley, away from the prying ears of their resident superspies. “I still have your diary, y’know.”

He sneaks his own glance at Steve, drinking in the stubble that hasn't been shaved off yet, the gaunt bones of his cheeks. Tony hasn't gotten used to having him back, hasn't been able to get over the skipping of his heart everytime he hears that voice, caught somewhere between disbelief and a new grief that he had failed Steve yet again. All those years he'd been wallowing in his own self-pity over everything he lost, Steve had spent frozen in time again at the edges of space, a _goddamned_ lab rat for MODOK. 

Tony nearly shies away when Steve edges closer so their shoulders bump when he takes another step, but he's too selfish to not want the closeness with a desperation that used to scare him.

“If it had to end up somewhere, I’m glad it ended up with you,” Steve says.

The easy trust of it spreads like a balm.

This past week since they got Steve back, he's found himself waking up in a panic every night, storming as fast as he shakily can across the corridor to Steve's door, stopping only when JARVIS displays Steve's vitals and a live video feed.

He had nearly forgotten them: the baseline numbers for a supersoldier's pulse that he made sure to keep an eye on for medical or the way Steve liked to sleep with two sets of blankets and a pillow to hug. The little things come back in waves threatening to swallow him, all the worlds he'd carved out for Steve in his thoughts -

He doesn't know how long he had stood in the silence of the night until Steve had been woken up by the noise of his strained breaths and held him together so that when morning came, they could both prove this was real.

They had a second chance.

And Iron Man knows better than most to not waste chances.

“So,” Tony looks over the sea of clouds spread out below the Chimera, “what’s next?”

Besides, probability and statistics: he knows he has a hundred one percent chance of sleeping in Steve's bed tonight.

“I was thinking about another cup of coffee,” Steve shrugs. If he notices the jacket Tony’s wearing, he makes no indication other than looping his arm around Tony’s back, hand warm against Tony’s hip.

“That’s an idea." _A really good one._ "But I meant in the long term.”

“Well, lunch at some point, I imagine.”

Tony laughs. He's done that more in the past five days than he has in five years. “You know, I think that kid’s a bad influence on you. You have a real attitude now, mister.”

Steve ducks his head, stiffening ever so slightly. “Tarleton and Monica, they –" his voice dips low, a ragged breath, tired and world weary, "I tried asking – they’d never tell me how long it'd been every time they took me out of the cryo.” His hand on Tony’s hip shakes just the tiniest bit, holding on tighter. “Knew you survived, Tarleton was angry about it, but I thought it could've been decades. You might’ve grown old, and I – ”

“You’re not getting your diary back,” Tony cuts him off, because grief could wait. Five years wasted on trying to cope with the hollowness of Steve’s absence, all he wants is to do now is soak in the sunlight and get back the even warmer light of Steve’s smile. “It’s mine now and you’re going to use one of the fancy new notebooks I get you.”

By the look of it, Steve understands the unspoken _I lost you too and we can’t ever get those years back, but maybe –_

“My thoughts have mostly been about you, anyway,” Steve admits what they both now know. “The diary’s sort of always been yours.”

– _maybe we can make new things to remember._

"I love you," Tony lets the words slip out, because how many times had he regretted not saying them? And then, because Steve turns to look at him with too much of everything, he adds, "I mean, I hate that you're making us do training exercises again, but having a roommate isn't so bad."

The grin that Steve sends him is brighter than the sun.

His throat grows tight, unable to hold the gaze, but he's always been like Icarus, flying too high and falling, falling, _falling_.

"You know I love you too, right?" Steve says with a hint of amusement and with all the air of pointing out the weather.

The night is dark, the seas have waves, and Steve has intense impulses when it comes to Tony.

"You, uh, you wrote it pretty clear in your diary."

"It's good you found _that_ diary," Steve hums, resting his head on Tony's shoulder as they lean side-by-side against the railing. From up here, everything looks beautiful. Everything looks possible. "I don't think you'd keep your hands off me if you found my other one."

"Your - your _other_ one?"

"With more details," and _now_ there's a hint of pink crawling up Steve's cheeks, "about my wants."

Tony feels another laugh bubble out of him, and he leans his head on Steve's, shifting just the smallest bit to bury his nose in the soft gold. "We can do all that instead of training."

"How about for every training session we do, I let you steal an item from my closet? For example, like that shirt you're wearing."

"This shirt has been in _my_ closet for more than half a decade," Tony argues before wincing, feeling the familiar sense of loss creeping back. _This is real_ , he has to remind himself.

"Tony?"

"Sorry, too soon," he mutters. Taking in a deep breath, he tries his best to smile. "But also, please remember that I made you a very expensive, very upgraded suit of armor, so I'm entitled to simple, secondhand shirts."

Steve huffs, worry fading into mischief as he pulls away to run his eyes down Tony. "You're entitled only because you look good in them."

“Is that what you'll write to your dear diary about today? 'Tony wore my shirt - which he totally didn't steal - and looked _great_ ',” he teases, refusing to blush like a teenager over such a small comment, _dammit_.

“I dunno," Steve shrugs again, his grin as unrepentant as ever. "You going to give me anything else worth writing about?”

“You going to give me anything worth remembering?” Tony fires back. 

Steve’s grin turns wicked. He spins Tony around, pressing an utterly chaste kiss against his temple. "You going to remember that?"

He doesn't wait for an answer before moving on to Tony's cheek, this time more indulgent and slow, his lips a hot brand sealing all the liquid light in, pressing against Tony's skin and threatening to burst his racing heart.

Tony wants to move, he _does_ , but suddenly, _finally,_ Steve's lips are on his lips and when did Steve become the one to take action?

He surges to kiss back, only to have Steve's hand grasp almost too-tight around his hips, his other hand moving to cup the back of Tony's neck, thumbing some sort of parttern there that sends Tony's spine alight with buzzing softness.

He doesn't need the diary or the jackets or the shield when he has Steve.

They were meaningless trinkets in the face of _this_ , and when Steve deepens the kiss, planting his affection on Tony's lips, he lets it burn hotter than his anger, deeper than his grief.

“That memorable enough?” Steve has the _audacity_ to stop and ask.

Tony nips at the bottom of his lips to retaliate. “Better do it again, in case it wasn't.”

“Your jokes,” Steve teases, “I just don’t get them.”

 _God_ , Tony never wants to stop loving him. Even if he wanted to, he doesn't think he can: especially not now that he has Steve right here. 

"Doesn't matter," he decides as sternly as he can, "just keep kissing me. You owe me a lot of kisses."

"One for every day I've loved you," Steve gives him another kiss. "Two for every day I'll love you." A kiss, followed by the hand on Tony's hips slipping lower. "Three for every day I've missed you."

"Practically infinite," Tony concludes happily.

"I'll trust your math."

"Get on with it, then. Time's ticking."

Steve doesn't wait any longer.

* * *

_October 23, 2024: Tony Stark-Rogers? Steve Rogers-Stark? Don't know which sounds better._

_Will ask Tony soon._

_P.S. Tony, if you read this and are about to panic and run, the jacket's on the sofa, I love you, and I'll be waiting for you when you're ready to come home._

_Yours,_

_Steve Rogers-Stark (?)_


End file.
